


Sharpen Your Knife

by subjunctive



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Hand Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim needs something from Fish, Fish wants something from Jim. It's the way of Gotham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharpen Your Knife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemonstiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonstiles/gifts).



> I tried to balance your request for Fish/Jim with her in control with your request for no BDSM, which I took to mean no formalized "scene" BDSM and no painplay, etc. I hope I straddled that line to your satisfaction!
> 
> The title is, of course, from the Hozier song.

If there was anything Jim knew about Fish Mooney, it was that she was deliberate. She did nothing on accident.

"Let's go to your place, then," she said casually, and something squirmed in his gut. Fear, or shame, or something else. On some level he knew where this was going, even if he insisted on his innocence.

"Hang on, now." It was a good protest, a believable one.

She widened her eyes, the fake eyelashes almost comical, except that something instinctual in him would never laugh at Fish Mooney. "Officer Gordon, are you reneging on our deal?"

His jaw tightened, and he looked away first. He needed the information she was offering, and she knew it.

"I didn't think so," she said, patting his arm. Goosebumps ran up and down his skin at the brief scrape of her fingernails. It wasn't all fear. "A good man like yourself."

"An hour," he reminded her, checking his watch. It was 8:53.

"One hour," she promised.

 _Her_ place was out of the question, no doubt about that. Jim hadn't ever swept it, of course, but he knew there had to be cameras lurking in every corner, just waiting to catch some unwary cop or plebe doing something unsavory and giving her ammunition. No, that wouldn't be any good. He'd hoped (was it hope?) that maybe all she wanted was a chance to rile him up, pick his brain, get information out of him. No, she wanted something else. His apartment – which he checked daily for bugs at this point – it was. It was new to him, since he'd moved out of Barbara's place, and not nearly as fancy.

As they were standing outside, he said – just because he could – "You have guys waiting outside, I bet?"

Fish hummed a little. There was a whiff of amusement about it. This was probably all one big, sick game to her. "It's just you and me, Officer Gordon." She insisted on using his title the whole time. He insisted on not thinking about how his pants seemed to feel tighter in response to it.

"The walk counts. Toward the hour," he added once they were in his door and it had clicked, reassuringly, shut. There was more than a little cheek in it.

She arched an eyebrow. "I don't believe we agreed to that."

He lifted a shoulder, jaw squaring. "It's time in my company, isn't it?" he said, echoing the words of their agreement. "Bad deal-making strategy, not to specify."

Fish pursed her lips. When she spoke her words were sweet, far sweeter than could be sincere. "I suppose I'll just have to … be creative with the time that we have."

"What do you want?" His voice came out more hoarsely than he expected.

She reached up, stroked him at the neck with both hands, cupped him at the jaw. "Oh, baby. This isn't about what I want. This is about you want."

Something about her touch surprised him, but he managed to get his next words out fine: "You're a regular philanthropist." He couldn't quite meet her eyes, though.

Fish huffed back in her throat, more amused than annoyed – or so he hoped – and then stepped back and away. Her touch left prickles across his skin. His tongue moved across his palate, trying to work some moisture back into his mouth. Her hands folded neatly around her hips; her nails looked like they might cut into her dress if she wasn't so careful. She was always so careful.

"Now," she said, a harder edge to her voice. "Strip."

His hand rose to his tie reflexively even as he voiced a token protest.

She smiled and offered him a condescending smile. "Officer Gordon. Please don't make me repeat myself."

This time he did look at her as he unraveled the knot at his throat. At her side her fingers twitched, briefly. His job was to notice things like that, the little things people did and said that gave them away. He wondered if she would like to be the one taking off his tie. She liked to disarm people.

Jim took it as slow as he could, half spitefully and half waiting to hear that voice again, ordering him around like he was some kind of .... He didn't finish the thought. First to go were his shoes and socks; he sat on the edge of his couch, bundling the black socks up together. Then he stood. As he divested himself of each item of clothing, he folded them and lay them on the couch neatly, pretending not to notice her gaze as it followed him. The cufflinks, a gift from Barbara last Christmas, were placed on the side table with reverence.

She didn't seem to notice, instead regarding him frankly as he turned to face her. He met her eyes unflinchingly this time. It was well past the time for embarrassment and shame; the fluttering in his gut had eased somewhat.

He didn't look down, but she did. Her gaze assessed him, sweeping his body from head to toe. It landed, for a short moment, on his crotch, but still he didn't look. He already knew he was half-hard from her brief touch and the strength in her voice; no point avoiding the fact.

"Like what you see?" His voice was rougher than he expected, but it served to cover the real anticipation he had for her answer.

Her nostrils flared slightly as she inhaled, her eyes rising to his face. "Why, Officer Gordon. I never suspected you were so … eager to please."

His teeth ground minutely; he had no other response for her. She seemed to find it satisfactory anyway.

"Lie down on the bed." Her voice deepened alluringly for this demand, and that was how Jim knew she was as excited as him for this, even if she hid it better.

"Not going to -?" He gestured vaguely, tauntingly, at her dress.

Her breath hissed out. "It's not your place to question me. Do as I say, or you _will_ regret it."

Almost automatically Jim did exactly what she had ordered. But he did turn to watch her as she approached the bed, though, noticing how her dress pulled and stretched between her hips. She was hypnotizing.

"I can tell _you_ like what you see," she said, and her tone was almost indulgent. Fond. Before he could help himself, Jim wet his lips.

Carefully, oh so carefully, she climbed onto the bed on her knees beside him. She was close enough to touch, so he almost did, reaching for the fold between her knee and calf –

"Don't," she said, her voice sharp – he snatched his hand away – and then she relaxed, casually calm again. "Don't touch me without my say-so."

"Yes, m'am," he said, his chest tightening. He wasn't sure whether it was mockery or sincerity in his voice. Probably a little of column A, a little of column B.

"That's better."

Fish's weight shifted toward him. It wasn't a big movement, but it jarred his bones all the same. She leaned over him, looming. "First things first." She was close enough that he could feel her breath on his face. "We have to do something with your hands."

Instinctively his hands tightened into fists. "I'm not going to –" he warned.

He was treated to a roll of her eyes. "Relax, honey. Why don't you just – grab the headboard. Nice and strong."

Warily he did so, the muscles in his arms flexing.

"Yeah, that's right." Her voice was a little breathier. "And _don't let go._ "

He wouldn't admit it, but his heart picked up the pace as her gaze lingered over him, seeming to stretch over every pound of flesh. How many pounds she wanted – that was the question.

Fish ran her hands down his chest, firm and impersonal. Like she was examining a purchase, or testing a product. She ran a finger down the line of his collarbone, exploratory. One of her fingernails tweaked his nipple, sharp, and he jerked, almost letting go. She noticed, of course. "Mm-mm-mm," she murmured disapprovingly, scratching him there again. This time his only response was an intake of breath through his nose.

Every so often she let her nails scrape instead of gliding over his skin, making him jump a little. Eventually she reached his navel, and then the cut of his hip. He was fully erect now, and it was impossible to ignore. His cock strained for attention; there was a drop of wetness glistening at the tip.

"People like you, Officer Gordon," she said out of the blue, surprising him, "you imagine that you are always in control. A safeguard of law and order. You are above the chaos of the rest of us, the disorder of the streets, even the desires of the animal. But you are the same as all the rest." Here her thumb brushed just under the head of his cock, unmistakably deliberate, and he groaned. It was just enough sensation to be intensely unsatisfying.

Without warning her hand closed around the base of his cock, choking a gasp out of him. With firm strokes she began to pump him, but slowly. At the top of each stroke she twisted her wrist and squeezed in an exquisite movement that left his mouth dry. Rather than look at her, he looked up to the ceiling. 

"If that's what you think being a cop -" 

Abruptly she released him, and the loss of sensation cut off the rest of his words. "Officer," she said, and there was a warning in it. 

"Don't like it when they talk back, huh?" A bead of sweat was running down his temple. "I coulda guessed that, if I ever thought about it." _Lie_ , he heard her say in the back of his head. There was a deep ache in his balls; it was a struggle to keep his grip and not just reach for his dick himself. 

"You're awfully mouthy for a cop getting a handjob in return for some information," she observed, venom in her voice. 

He had nothing to say to that, and she knew it. Without looking he knew she was smiling. Her victory won, her hand closed over him again. She paused once, to lick her palm, but otherwise her skin was a little rough against his, jolting him with every movement, not quite comfortable. The saliva wasn't enough to make it very slick. She was probably doing it deliberately, he thought, but he was getting a little hazy and it was hard to concentrate, to analyze; that rough feeling kept tugging at his attention. 

Unable to help it, he rolled his hips into her palm on each stroke, just a little, barely perceptible, just a bodily reaction, he told himself, it was completely natural. Pleasure built in him rapidly; it had been weeks since he and Barbara had ... he didn't want to think of Barbara. 

When he was panting for it, close to the edge, her hand slowed, and then stilled again. He groaned in frustration and tried to thrust into her hand, but she loosened the clasp of her hand so that she was barely touching him. It was agony. 

"What are you -" he said between gulps of air. "Trying to ..." 

But she didn't answer, and didn't touch him again until he'd relaxed back into the bed somewhat, pulled away from the ledge. Her hand resumed, finally, but she started again with slow strokes. It wasn't satisfying, it wasn't _urgent_ enough, he _needed_ ... 

Gradually she began to work him faster. When he was close, so close he could almost taste it - 

She did it _again_. 

" _Fish_ ," he said, half plea and half threat. She only laughed at him before starting again. 

When her hand stilled for the third time, Jim threw back his head against the pillow. He groaned, too loudly, but he didn't care at that moment if the neighbor heard. "Whatever you - I'm not going to _beg_ -" 

She considered him, her nut-brown gaze placid and unruffled. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." She leaned forward so that her mouth brushed his cheekbone. "Not yet, anyway." 

When she finally, _finally_ allowed him to finish, his heels dug into the mattress, and he was rutting into her hand. His come arced out over his chest and splattered. She stroked him through it, not stopping until he had finished. His brain was all fogged up, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath, drawing in lungful after lungful until his mind started to calm down. Through the bleary fog he saw her reach for a tissue on the nightstand and wipe delicately at her fingers. 

Then she patted him on the arm. It was a very _goodbye_ kind of gesture, even though there was still time on the clock. "I think that concludes your end of the bargain." 

"You sure – you don't want –" Jim licked his lips; his mouth seemed so dry. In lieu of words he gestured toward her. She had to be wet. She could just – if she wanted – she could hike up her skirt – he imagined her planting one knee into the mattress beside his head, and then the other, and then –

As she stood, she laughed at him, although it wasn't entirely unkind. "Oh, no. You take the rest of our time to recover, honey. Maybe you can make it up to me another time."

"You wanna go steady with me?" Jim meant to be mocking, but his voice came out hoarse. "Didn't know you were that kind of gal."

When she spoke, her words had the ring of a promise to them. "I'm not. But I have the feeling you'll be wanting something from me soon. Maybe I'll even give it to you."

"Oh, yeah?" He tried to make it sound challenging.

Fish didn't take the bait, just adjusted her earrings and hummed. "See you 'round, officer." She sashayed out of his bedroom.

He did what she told him to, even thought he knew he didn't have to. Maybe she did have cameras in his apartment that he'd never found, but if so – he had more things to worry about. When the clock read 9:53, he rose from the bed and went to the bathroom to wash himself off.

It wasn't until he left the bedroom, thinking about getting takeout, that he realized the cufflinks on the side table were gone.

And he hadn't even gotten any information out of her.


End file.
